Falling For You
by Believe4Ever
Summary: It's been a while since the funeral. Sherlock's death. It had certainly taken its toll on John. Poor, sweet John. If only he knew how much he really meant to Sherlock... Please review and comment! And if you have any ideas for other fan fictions, be sure to let me know.
1. Chapter 1

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the first of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~The worst thing you did was make me fall for you and have no intention of catching me~_

Sherlock had completely changed his appearance when he took the plunge. After the fall at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, he cut his hair short and got a new wardrobe. He felt sick most days as he wondered how John was taking everything. He hadn't seen him since the day at the cemetery, when John had looked so broken. He was a little worried. He decided to go and see his friend. Without letting John know he was alive, of course. It wasn't yet time for him to know of his being alive.

Once again his stomach rumbled from hunger but he ignored it. He hadn't eaten for over a week now and he still didn't have an appetite. He hadn't been able to sleep very well, either. 221B was the best place he had lived in and he couldn't feel comfortable unless he was in his bed in that flat.

Sherlock knew that John would be at a small get together for Molly's birthday. Sherlock really hoped that she would not accidentally tell someone that he was alive. She's done well for the past month, but it's only been a month. Who knows how she'd hold up when she'd see John for the first time since the funeral?

The detective had reserved the table in the corner of the restaurant they were all meeting at, but he knew that he would have a fine view of their table. Hopefully a great view of John, and he could analyze how he'd been doing.

Sherlock slipped into his seat. There was still another half hour until everyone would start showing up, but he couldn't risk walking in and having someone from the party recognizing him.

The first person to show was Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan. Sherlock kept his menu up, and he peeked over the edge to watch them. Donovan was laughing and flashing around an engagement ring to the detective inspector. Sherlock quickly deduced that the only one who would want to marry Donovan and buy a ring of such little beauty would be Anderson. He must have left his wife in the last month.

Lestrade was quieter than usual and he looked through the menu. Was it possible that Sherlock's death had affected him as well? Sherlock supposed it was.

Next came Molly and after her was Mrs. Hudson. There was small chatter among the four of them and Donovan announced that Anderson was, indeed, the one who had proposed. He couldn't make it to the party because of a business meeting, though. So Anderson had gotten a job outside of the police department.

_Good riddance, _Sherlock thought with an angry sigh.

John was the last person to arrive. Nothing about him had changed much in the past month. He looked a little sleep deprived, but it seemed like he had been eating all right. Mrs. Hudson had probably been seeing to that. Sherlock braced himself to see his face and his broken, depressed expression as he greeted the others.

There wasn't one.

John was smiling. He looked genuinely happy and he laughed at a couple of jokes Donovan cracked about Molly getting older. Sherlock blinked a couple of times, not quite believing it. Just a month ago he had looked absolutely depressed, broken, needing someone to comfort him. He had learned that John had been going to therapy, but he didn't think that it would help as much as it appeared to have helped.

"How have you been, John?" Molly asked, sounding a little concerned.

"Splendid," John answered with a grin.

"R-Really?" Lestrade asked, surprised.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well . . . considering it's been a month since . . ."

John's face fell for a moment and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "All right, I admit that I was a mess for the first week or two, but my therapist helped me through it. She helped me realize that I haven't known him for nearly as long as some of you have known him. I was just a flat mate. I was just an assistant." John shrugged. "I've learned to move on."

"That's wonderful, dear," Mrs. Hudson said with a reassuring smile. "I'm so happy that you're doing well."

John gave a half chuckle and waved his hand dismissively. "Enough about me, we're here for Molly! Happy Birthday, Molly!"

The others gave a quiet cheer in agreement. Sherlock looked down, the menu still hiding his face. John had gotten over him very quickly. John had basically forgotten about him. He was smiling like nothing had happened, laughing like nothing was wrong. It was as if Sherlock had never come into his life.

"Are you ready to order?" a waitress asked the detective for the fourth time since he'd been sitting there.

"On second thought," he muttered, standing up, "I'm not that hungry."


	2. Chapter 2

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

*****This chapter is the shortest**

_~Those who don't cry are the ones who need to the most~_

John left the restaurant after the party had ended. He limped on his cane and gave a wave to the others as he exited. As soon as he was out of their sight, his smile dropped.

"They brought him up," John sighed. "Of course they would."

John had done his best to seem like he was all right. He didn't want everyone to worry about him. But it was so hard for him to keep up this façade. To have to smile when he felt like crying was almost as bad as watching Sherlock fall.

He walked briskly to the motel he was staying at. He checked in and went into his room. He went to the bed and just sat there for a moment, doing nothing, just staring at the wall.

Then, he started to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~The weirdest thing happened the other morning. I woke up with tears in my eyes and one rolling down my cheek . . . I knew that I must have been dreaming of you again~_

John slowly fell asleep. He had cried for hours—or at least, it seemed like hours—and he had fallen asleep through the exhaustion. Still in his clothes, he slept on the bed with his cane held close like a teddy bear.

In his dream, John was standing in the street, looking up to see Sherlock standing on the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

_"Sherlock!" John shouted into the phone. He couldn't see his friend's face from the distance, but he could tell that his friend was crying. He could just feel it._

_"I'm so, so sorry, John," Sherlock whimpered. His voice quivered and John knew for certain that tears were streaming down his friend's face._

_"Get down from there, stop it!"_

_"I can't come down."_

_"Don't jump, Sherlock, don't do it!"_

_"I have to."_

_"No, you don't!"_

_"John, I'm a fake."_

"No, _you're _not!"

_"I am. Moriarty was just a creation. I had to make everyone believe that I could actually . . . actually solve the crimes."_

_"Sherlock, I know you, I _know_ you! You're real, your deductions are real, _you are not a fake!"

_"Goodbye, John."_

_"Sherlock . . .! _Sherlock!"

_But his friend had already hung up and for the hundredth time, John had to watch his friend lean forward and fall off the—_

John's eyes flew open and he jerked up, his cane stabbing his stomach, causing him to groan. He fell back onto the bedspread. Tears were in his eyes. There were always tears in his eyes after he dreamt of Sherlock. One fell down his cheek.

"I still couldn't talk you off the ledge," John whispered, causing more tears to fall. "I still couldn't save you like you've saved me so many times before . . ."

And that killed him.


	4. Chapter 4

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~Every day I see you coating your beautiful eyes with happiness, just to stop the world from seeing the pain building up inside you~_

_I shouldn't go see him, _Sherlock told himself. Even so, he was going to see John again. Molly had talked to him. She had dared to go and see him, just because she was worried about the doctor. Sherlock had agreed to watch him carefully. _He's fine; I don't have to go see him._

Ignoring his mind's arguments, he went to the park. John was always at the park, according to the homeless network. He would sit on a bench, the same bench that he sat on where Mike Stamford had first told him about Sherlock.

The detective stayed a distance from the bench, but close enough to be able to see John's face clearly. When he finally got a chance to peer at his friend, his heart sank.

How could he have not seen it before? John's eyes were full of sadness, though the smile he wore seemed genuine. He was rotting inside, wasn't he? Sherlock's death had left a bigger mark than the detective first thought. He was simply putting on an act, just to keep the others from worrying about him.

It was all so obvious now! Poor, sweet, caring John. He kept his depression and feelings hidden in order to let everyone worry about their own lives. Of course he did. That's exactly the kind of man John Watson is.

_So Molly was right, _Sherlock thought, a hint of a smile tracing his lips. _He does care about me. A lot, apparently._

And even though it pained him to see his best friend so sad . . . he felt good to know that John hadn't really forgotten about him.


	5. Chapter 5

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~I'm tired of trying, sick of crying, I know I've been smiling, but inside I'm dying~_

"Hello, Molly," John greeted with a smile. He felt the pain well up behind his fake grin, but he held it back.

"Good morning, John," she answered as she cleaned her tools. She had just finished an autopsy on a forty-something-year-old woman. The police were sure that she had been poisoned, but they were at a loss when it came to answering who it was that had killed her. Molly wished that Sherlock could help them. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for a visit. Am I not allowed to do that?"

"Of course you're allowed to." She gave him a hard look. "Are you all right, John?"

"Of course."

"Really?"

"I'm fine, Molly. Why do you think I'd not be?"

The woman had to bite back her lip. She didn't want to mention that it'd been two months since Sherlock's 'death'. He seemed fine when her birthday came around, nearly a month ago. He'd seemed fine since. But she couldn't help but feel as though he wasn't fine. She couldn't help but think that the smile he wore was just a mask, a mask hiding his true feelings. She had never heard back from Sherlock, about if John was really depressed or not. He had just told her that he couldn't keep watching. It would be dangerous if John found him. But if this was just an act, it was like dam with thousands of depressed feelings waiting to flood out. She was worried of just what those feelings would result in.

"No reason," she finally said. "Just checking."

"So what's the latest case?" he asked, leaning against the island-counter filled with different chemicals, medicines, test tubes, microscopes, and other various hospital items. He glanced at some of the pills lined up on the counter.

"Woman poisoned. Police don't know who the killer is." Molly finished rinsing off her last tool and proceeded to dry them.

"No leads?"

"Nope. The poison used could be found at any hospital—it was really just an over dosage of medicine—so right now all workers in any hospital in London are suspects."

"Even you?"

"Yes, even me. Not that I'd kill anyone." Molly nearly cut herself on one of the incision knives as she dried them. That was a lie, what she'd said. She had legally 'killed' Sherlock Holmes by declaring him dead on the autopsy.

"If it's any consolation, I don't think you did it."

"Thank you, I appreciate it." Molly turned to put her tools away in the cabinet behind her.

John looked back at the bottles of pills. He saw one that had a label which read that the dosage was very small, even for a man of his size. It would be very easy to overdose. John licked his lips anxiously and before he could decide otherwise, he snatched it up, slipping it into his pocket.

"Well, I'd better be on my way," John said as Molly turned back around. "I don't want to get in the way of your work anymore."

Just as he was leaving, Molly asked one more time, "John, you're sure you're fine?"

The blonde gulped and his fingers gripped his cane. "Fine, Molly, how many times must I tell you?"

She let him leave after that. A few minutes after he left, she took out her mobile phone and phoned Lestrade. "Hello? Yes, um . . . I'm worried about John." She leaned against the counter. "I know he seems like he's doing all right, but . . . I don't know, I just . . ." She trailed off as she noticed the bottles of pills on the counter. Weren't there six of them? Now there was only five . . .

Molly's eyes grew wide and her voice was suddenly hoarse. "W-We need to find John . . . Now."

John sat on his bed, eyeing the pills. He glanced back up at his door, checking for the hundredth time that it was locked. His eyes went back to the pills.

"I'm tired of being sad," he said. "I'm tired of pretending to be fine. I hate living like this. I've tried dating. That didn't work. I've tried forgetting. That'll never happen. I just . . ." His hands gripped his hair as he hung his head. _I just can't do this anymore._

The blonde took out one of the pills and set the bottle back onto the table. He held it between his fingers, just staring at it. Could he do it? Could he really put it into his mouth and swallow? He thought he could. So he did.

Just as he was putting it into his mouth, the pill brushing against his lips, there was a loud pounding at the door.

"John!" Molly's voice screamed from outside the room. "John, open the door!"

_Ignore her, _he told himself. His mouth was suddenly dry, though.

"Open the door!" came Lestrade's gruff, demanding voice. "Dr. Watson, open the door!"

"John, _please!_" Molly's voice was pleading. Her voice was heartbreaking.

Before he could even realize he was doing so, John was walking to the door. He slowly unlocked it and the door was swung open. Molly's hands clutched John's arms. She ripped the pill out of his hand and threw it onto the ground.

"You didn't eat one, did you?" she demanded as her eyes bore into him. He slowly shook his head. She gave a sigh of great relief and threw her arms around him. His arms slowly joined in the hug. Then the tears started to fall.

"I'm so sorry," he whimpered. "I'm so sorry that I worried you."

"Don't do it again," she pleaded as her own tears came down on her cheeks. "Please, _please _don't do it again! Don't hide your feelings, let us know how you're feeling, I don't care. Just _don't do it again!_"

John could only give a nod and hold her tighter.


	6. Chapter 6

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~My heart was taken by you, broken by you, and now it's in pieces because of you~_

John arrived at 221B Baker Street, still feeling down and depressed. It had been three months since Sherlock had died. It still hurt. Badly. Mrs. Hudson insisted that he stopped by the flat, though. He no longer lived at 221B, but he never cleared out Sherlock's things. Mrs. Hudson said that she couldn't live seeing all his things scattered about and she asked John to clear it out. He didn't want to either, but he knew that he couldn't just ask the sweet old landlady to do it. It was obvious that the ordeal hurt her, too.

He slowly unlocked the door into the building and walked in, greeted with the familiar scent of the old flat. There were still faint traces of Sherlock's cologne. He walked up the stairs, head down. His limp felt worse now. His cane gave faint taps as it helped him up the stairs. He couldn't bear the sight of the place. The stairs. The wallpaper. The scent. It was too much.

He eased his way over the squeaky stair even though he knew that nobody was there. Mrs. Hudson had said that she'd be out shopping when John came. She probably didn't want to see him when he was still so depressed. Or maybe she thought he'd want to be alone when he was greeted with the sight of it?

John reached the top of the stairs and braced himself to see the door into the living area of the flat. He blinked, confused, when he saw that the door was left partly open. Mrs. Hudson probably forgot to close it the last time she was in there.

The doctor walked over to the door and silently opened it. John froze in the doorway, eyes wide. There was a man inside the flat, looking out the window opposite of the door, so his back was to John. Even so, John could recognize the figure. It was thinner—much thinner than the last time he had seen it—and the clothes the man wore hung on his body loosely. His hair was cut shorter, but it still had the dark curls that John recognized. The traces of Sherlock's cologne were now much stronger, and permeated off the man.

Sherlock was there. Right there. Right in front of him, back turned.

"Sh-Sherlock?" John stammered in disbelief. The man jumped and turned swiftly, looking frantic. John nearly fainted at the sight of his supposedly dead friend. His eyes were still sharply blue-green and his cheekbones were as prominent as ever, though his cheeks were hollow like he hadn't eaten in weeks. There were bags under his eyes like he hadn't slept either.

"John!" the detective cried nervously. "I . . . I thought everyone was out . . . I didn't think you'd be coming . . . back . . ."

The doctor just stood there, dumbfounded. His friend—his _best _friend—was standing there. He wasn't dead. He was alive. He was right in front of him. But that couldn't be possible, could it? Sherlock was _dead_. He had fallen off a bloody building! He had _killed _himself . . . and yet here he was. As alive as ever; though his body was worse for wear.

"John, please, say something," the detective pleaded quietly. It didn't quite process to John that Sherlock had been rambling.

John bit his lip discreetly and turned on his heel, leaving the flat. He didn't bother to close the door or even give his friend a word.

"Wait, John!" Sherlock called, running after him.

Fury was building inside the doctor. How could Sherlock have done that? How could he have _done _that to him? Made him depressed, put him into shock, and made him need therapy? Did he even _care? _

_I want to hit the man! _John thought viciously as his speed quickened. He didn't know where he was going. Why wasn't he going to Sherlock? Why wasn't he hitting him, even though he really wanted to? Why wasn't he giving hateful words to the man? Where was he _going?_

John pushed through the crowds of London's streets and he still heard Sherlock trying to scramble after him. It didn't take long until he got to St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

_Where am I going? _he asked himself again. Why was he at Bart's?

"John!" Sherlock hissed, trying not to draw attention to him as he followed his friend down the echoing halls of the hospital. John's fists clenched and he finally took off in a run. His cane was left in the hall, forgotten.

The doctor erupted out onto the roof of the hospital. He stared, for a moment, at the blood stain in front of him. He knew that it was Moriarty's blood—or 'Richard Brook's, as the world has chosen to believe—but he had to forget about that. He stormed over to the edge of the roof and took a step up onto the ledge. He knew this was where Sherlock had stood when he jumped. He had come enough times to understand that much.

"John!" Sherlock gasped when he came out. John turned and his eyes were full of anger.

"You were right here!" he shrieked, finally letting out his voice. "You were standing right here when you jumped!"

The detective gulped, feeling guilt creep into his gut. "Yes . . . Yes, I know."

"How could you do this to me? How could you jump and leave me alone when you were alive all along?!"

"John . . . I'm . . . sorry . . ."

"I don't care! I don't care _how _sorry you are! You still did this to me; you still ripped out my heart!"

"John—"

"No, just _shut up! _I'm tired of you saying my name like you care! You don't care! You've proven that!" Tears were now starting to flow down John's face. "You . . . You _idiot!_" His voice was weaker, the anger now dwindling. "You left me . . . alone . . ." He forced a gulp. "Like you didn't even care . . ."

"John, I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered with his eyes honestly full of concern. He took a small step forward. "I'm alive. I'm so, so sorry."

The blonde bit his lip and exhaled shakily, trying to stop the tears. They did. "Sherlock, I—" John felt pain shoot through his hip and his eyes widened. _Oh no._

His legs always failed him. They always failed when he needed them most. They did now. His knees buckled and he felt his body start to drop. Blood rushed to his head as he started to fall and he heard Sherlock scream his name, but it sounded as if he was underwater. John's body descended backward, and thoughts ran through his head. He never got to tell Sherlock anything. He never got to say how happy he was that he was alive; he never got to punch him; he never got to shout his string of cusses; he never got to tell him his true feelings . . .

Sherlock's hand clamped around John's wrist and caught his friend. He quickly hauled John up and safely onto the roof of St. Bart's. John's eyes were still open wide and he was shivering from the shock of nearly dying.

"John," Sherlock huffed, his own body shaking. "Be more careful."

John stood, teetering on his feet. He looked up at Sherlock and Sherlock looked back at him, giving a slight smile. The blonde's hand morphed into a fist and swung, clacking against Sherlock's jaw. "You bloody sod!" John spat.

"W-What?" Sherlock asked. He was now on the ground, hand rubbing his jaw.

"That was for jumping off a building!" John rubbed his knuckles. "Now let's get back to the flat. You have a lot of explaining to do."


	7. Chapter 7

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~Should I smile because we're friends, or cry because that's all we'll ever be?~_

Sherlock glanced over at John, and then quickly looked away. He's felt like this for a long time. When did it start, exactly? Oh, of course. It started right after _A Study in Pink, _when he was talking to Lestrade about who could have shot that bloody cabbie. It had clicked in his mind that John was the one who had saved his life. They had only known each other . . . what, a day? A day and a half? Already the man had decided to kill someone to save him.

From there the love grew stronger. In _The Blind Banker_, though Sherlock had tried his best to keep it hidden, he had been absolutely terrified to know that John had been kidnapped. Everything in his mind had just disappeared besides one simple statement: I must find him. It had been fairly easy to find his kidnapped friend and he managed to save him in the process. The only disappointing part of that adventure was when he had introduced John to Sebastian Moran as a friend and John had corrected him by saying he was nothing but a 'colleague'. And the fact that John had been on a date with _Sarah _nearly the entire time.

_The Great Game _had simply terrified him, straight down to the bones. When John had come out in the pool, his heart had shattered. His body had gone numb. His brain had gone blank. For a horrible, nerve-paralyzing moment, he had thought that John was Moriarty. That John had betrayed him. That he would be left alone . . . Again. Then he found out that John was simply being threatened in the same way as the other victims had. Sherlock's brain had restarted and his body had gotten abuzz with fierce anger.

_"I can stop John Watson too . . . Stop his heart . . ."_ Those words still rang out in Sherlock's ears every so often. They still shook him down to the core. At the time he had simply lashed out with his words, demanding to know who was there, who was doing this to his best friend. Moriarty had stepped out, looking so clever, so full of himself, so proud. How Sherlock wanted to shoot him in the head, then and there.

They had narrowly escaped, thanks to someone who had interrupted their meeting by calling Moriarty. Then came the adventure with Irene Adler. That had been a handful. Sherlock certainly had been tested in that one, by that devil dominatrix. He escaped unscathed, luckily. Although he had a feeling that John had felt uneasy through that entire plot.

Sherlock had felt dreadful in _The Hound of Baskerville. _He had felt a little guilty using John as a guinea pig, and frightening his friend certainly hadn't given him pleasure. Of course having John seeming to shun him and ignore him had broken a piece off of Sherlock's heart. Everything worked out in the end, though, which the detective was very grateful for.

There was no need to explain how hurt, guilty, and horrified Sherlock had been throughout the incident with Moriarty just a few months ago. Hearing John sound so sad and scared; his screams as he fell; just seeing the soldier so . . . incomplete. Broken. It made Sherlock feel even eviler than Moriarty.

But that didn't matter, now. John knew he was alive, now. He was back. Sure, he had to stay in Baker Street until he could figure out how to let everyone know of his return, but it was worth it. Every so often John would randomly pinch or slap Sherlock, saying that his anger still hadn't washed out yet. The detective didn't blame him. He would take as much abuse as John sought fit.

John was sitting in his chair while Sherlock pondered over all of this. He was reading a book. How could John sit still while Sherlock was thinking all of this? If there was one thing Sherlock could never quite deduce, it was what was going through John's head.

"Why are you staring at me?" the doctor finally asked, putting the book down. The detective hadn't realized that he was studying his friend.

"No reason," he answered simply.

"Sherlock . . ." John sighed. "You know that I don't hate you, right?"

Sherlock's heart fluttered a little when John said that. The detective _had _considered the option, and it had killed him inside. "Of course I know that," he answered instead.

"Good." John paused. "I have a date tonight, remember?"

Sherlock could have sworn that John heard a crack erupt from his chest. He gave a smile that was as fraudulent but realistic as the one John had worn a month ago. "Yes. I hope you have fun."

"Really?"

"Of course. It's about time you started dating again and got out of this slump."

John grinned. "Thanks. I'll be back around ten."

Sherlock gave a slight nod when John went back to reading; his smile dropped and was instead replaced with a depressed frown. _I love you._


	8. Chapter 8

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~They both fell in love with each other and neither wanted to admit it because neither one wanted to ruin their friendship~_

_Why didn't Sherlock say anything?_

John finished putting on a casual outfit. It _was _just a first date after all. He had planned for this date a week ago—Mrs. Hudson had set it up—but now he didn't want to go. He'd rather stay home with his best friend whom he just found out _wasn't _dead.

_Why didn't he give a snappy remark?_

John slipped on his old ratty pair of socks. The relationship wouldn't last anyway. Sherlock had always given him a remark about how the woman would be fat, or how she probably had a bad sense of humor, or even that John would be hopelessly, forever alone.

_Why did his smile seem fake?_

John put on his everyday shoes. The date would go bad anyway, he shouldn't dress too well. Sherlock seemed much too casual about this. He didn't seem at all worried about how the date would affect his work or anything. This wasn't like him in the slightest.

_Perhaps I should just stay in._

John shook his head. He couldn't do that. It would break Mrs. Hudson's heart, and worry the others if he suddenly seemed anti-social again. He wouldn't want to worry them again. He certainly couldn't just say "It's okay, I was with Sherlock" as an explanation.

_I should just leave._

John left his room and poked his head into the living room just before he left. "I'm off," he announced.

"Okay, have a nice date," answered the faint voice of the detective. He must have done an experiment.

"Love you," John called as he turned to leave. The doctor froze. _Did I just say that?_

"What? Sorry?"

"I said 'See you later'!"

Before Sherlock could question further, John left the flat.

_'I love you'?! What was I thinking?! _But, still, it felt good to say it. Natural. _But I can't say that to Sherlock. Just imagine what that'd do to our friendship._


	9. Chapter 9

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~You know you love him when every night you can't help but cry because you know he's not yours. He's hers~_

"I'm not in love," Sherlock muttered to himself. John was still out on his date. It was ten thirty-eight. It was late. But Sherlock just couldn't stay up knowing that John was not yet back. He had to stay up. He had to greet his friend. Even so, he blinked with a yawn and started nodding off on the couch.

"Go to sleep, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson called from the door.

"I'm waiting for John," the detective argued.

"You'll see him in the morning."

Sherlock sighed and knew better than to argue with his landlady. Even so, it was hard to get off the couch and go into his bedroom. He lied down on the bed, not bothering to change clothes. All of a sudden, he was no longer tired.

"I don't love John," Sherlock said once again, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm just . . . confused. It's just . . ." Sherlock sighed. What in the world would the explanation for this sensation be, if not love? He's seen movies and television shows on love, he's read books on it; he's even seen it do such harm to other people because of it. But is that really what Sherlock felt?

"I'm back!" he heard John yell. "Sorry I'm a bit late. The date ran on longer than I intended. Um . . . Maybe it can work out. Maybe this relationship will really work!" Sherlock felt another pang of . . . something in his heart. "I'm off to bed. You get some sleep too."

Sherlock listened to the sounds of John going around and getting to bed. When everything was quiet, he still laid there, thinking. Muttering. "I'm not in love . . . I'm not in love . . . I'm not . . . his."

Tears started falling down his face. How hard it was for him to realize that it really was love . . . and know that John would never love him back.


	10. Chapter 10

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~How many times did I have to cry before you would actually listen?~_

John looked over to Sherlock. He hadn't said a word all morning. He just sat at the table, his fingers pressed together like a steeple and his eyes closed. If John hadn't known any better, he would have thought that Sherlock was just concentrating on a case, but he knew for a fact that there wasn't a single case taken.

"Sherlock?" John finally called.

"Hmm?"

"Why are you so quiet?"

"Thinking."

"About?"

"Things."

John was even more confused. Usually Sherlock would at least go on a short rant about something. Even about how John was interrupting his train of thought would have been more likely than him simply saying "Things."

"Is something distracting you?" the ex-medic asked.

"No, why?"

"You're quiet."

"Didn't I tell you that sometimes I wouldn't talk for days on end?"

"You did, but that was when you have a case. Even if you have a case, you usually like to talk it out to me. To anyone, really."

"So you think you understand me perfectly?"

All right, that question certainly caught John off guard. "Excuse me?"

Sherlock stood abruptly. "I'm busy thinking, John, and your talking is annoying me. If you don't mind, I think I'll step out for a breather, just to get away from your excessive talking!"

John's eyes were wide as his friend stormed out of the flat. He stood from his chair and hurried after him, calling his name.

"Go away, John!"

"Sherlock, what—?"

The detective exited the building without bothering to grab his coat and walked quickly down the sidewalk, bobbing and weaving in between the crowds of people. John tried to follow and occasionally lost sight of him. He managed to keep track of his friend by the familiar head of curly hair, which had grown back out over the past month.

They eventually made it to the park, where the crowd was thinner. John finally caught up and latched onto Sherlock's sleeve.

"Will you let go?!" the detective nearly shrieked. He ripped his arm away from John and kept his head facing away from him.

"Sherlock, what is the matter with you?"

"Nothing, I just need some time to my own!"

"I can understand that, but you just stormed out! You don't do that."

"How do you know what I do or don't do? We hadn't seen each other for three months! You're acting as if we're still the exact same after such a long period of time! We change a lot!"

John's expression softened. What in the world was Sherlock going on about? "Sherlock . . ."

"John, please, just leave alone be for a little while . . ." His voice quivered.

The ex-medic gripped his friend's shoulder and slowly turned him around. He found the detective's eyes glossy from the tears threatening to spill and his lip shaking.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked quietly.

The detective bit his lip for a moment and then leaned forward. His lips pressed against John's and for one moment, all time was frozen. It was just the two of them, feeling each other's warmth. When Sherlock finally drew away, John found himself wishing that he had stayed longer. The doctor opened his eyes to find that a couple tears had traced down the detective's cheeks.

"I've wanted to do that for a while, now," Sherlock whispered shyly, looking down at the ground.

John smiled and leant up on his tiptoes to give Sherlock another kiss on his cheek. "Me too."


	11. Chapter 11

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~You taught me that I'm worthy to be loved~_

The next couple weeks were utter bliss. Sherlock and John could finally be honest with each other. They made more time to be alone. They went on dates: dinner, lunch, having tea occasionally and Sherlock even turned down a couple cases because it would interfere too much.

Lestrade—who had found out about Sherlock's miraculous return long ago, along with everyone else—wasn't all that surprised to find out that they were in love. Nobody was, really. Everyone had always had that slight suspicion about the two of them. Especially Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, who kept sending John little nagging text messages about that happy announcement he still expected.

Anderson and Donovan—who insisted on keeping her maiden name—constantly jeered at them and teased them about their romance. John and Sherlock just jeered back. Sherlock never missed a beat to point out when Anderson's ex-wife had come into town and the little meetings those two had together. That certainly made Donovan jealous.

"I love you," John whispered with a smile. The two of them were sitting on the couch, watching tellie. They weren't really paying attention to what the show was. John's head was resting comfortably on Sherlock's shoulder and their hands were wrapped together.

"I love you too," Sherlock answered with the same warm grin. They said that to each other constantly. It made both of them feel warm and gooey inside.

"Hey, did you ever get a divorce from your work?"

"It was never an official ceremony, so there never was a reason to get a divorce."

John let out a laugh and Sherlock joined with a small chuckle.

"This is great," the ex-medic sighed contently.

"This is more than great," Sherlock corrected, "this is wonderful."

"Amazing."

"Fantastic."

"Brilliant."

They both gave small giggles.

John shifted to get more comfortable. "How long have we known each other?"

"A little less than two years?"

"And it took us this long to finally admit this?"

"Well I've always had suspicion about you, but I just recently discovered about my love."

"You liar."

Sherlock gave a small grin. "All right, maybe longer."

John closed his eyes. "It's so peaceful. Are you sure that you're not bored?"

"I could never be bored when I'm with you." Sherlock kissed John's head softly. "I love you."


	12. Chapter 12

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~There was always a chance that we would fall apart, and learn that what we had wasn't love~_

Those weeks were utter bliss . . . But everything has problems.

They started out small, like Sherlock occasionally ignoring John like he used to, but they grew and piled up. Sherlock began to blow off their dates, would quit talking, and refuse to eat. He slowly became his usual self, not the adorable hopeless romantic that John had been used to. It was starting to annoy the doctor.

"Do you want to go to dinner?" John asked one night.

"Busy," answered Sherlock. He peered into the microscope that he kept in the kitchen and wrote down some observations. The new case Lestrade had him working on was perfectly fine, nothing more than a trivial puzzle, but he needed something to occupy his mind. He had even gone to Mycroft for a case. Now the one that he supplied him with was a lot better.

"What about breakfast, tomorrow?"

"Can't, I have to go see Lestrade. I figured out the culprit for his latest crime and I'm hoping he'll have a half-decent case for me tomorrow."

"Perhaps we could go for a walk some time?"

"I think well when I'm sitting."

"Tellie?"

"I need utter silence, John. Why are you pushing this?"

"Because we haven't had a real date for over a week now!"

"I've been busy with work!"

"You can't put off work?"

"No, John, you know that without my work—"

"Your brain rots."

"Precisely!"

"And your work is the only thing that matters."

"Yes, it's . . ." Sherlock trailed off and finally looked up from his microscope and over to John, whose mouth was clamped shut and lips were pursed bitterly. "John, that's not—"

"Yes, it is what you meant. Your work is all that is important, not me."

"Don't be like that; you're twisting around my words."

"Then how come you've been putting me off for your week all this week? And last week?" John stood. "You can be such a _prat _sometimes! A selfish, narcissistic _prat!_"

"Excuse me? John, you I love you—"

"Then blow off work instead of blowing me off! Just for one hour, can you leave the microscope, forget the case, let your mind get rid of all facts about blood splatters or gun shots, come to dinner, and not deduce every little fact about the waiter?"

Sherlock gulped. "John . . ."

The medic threw his hands into the air. "You can't, can you? You can't bury the consulting detective side of you for just one night!"

"Why is this so important?"

"Because!" He sighed and buried his face into his hands. "If you can't commit, then maybe we don't honestly love each other."


	13. Chapter 13

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~If he said he couldn't live without you, would you still walk away?~_

Sherlock's jaw dropped. He slowly got off his stool and rose to his feet. John's outburst had certainly surprised him, but accusing him of not loving John? That was hurtful. "What exactly . . . are you suggesting?"

"I don't know." John's hands dropped. His face looked depressed. Maybe even a little surprised that he had gone and said all of that. "I really don't."

The detective walked over and gripped his boyfriend's shoulders. "John, I _love _you." He would do whatever it took to convince the medic that he really, truly meant it. How could he change who he was? He couldn't. But he could do his absolute best to try and prove how much John honestly meant to him.

"Well I wouldn't know it!" The doctor shrugged off his hands and then swatted them away. "We haven't had a real date in a week and you haven't honestly told me that you love me for even longer!"

"I've told you that I love you!"

"Not _honestly_! You mumble it, or you say it quickly! You don't even kiss me in public."

"What does _that _matter?"

"I would like to be shown some affection."

"I show affection."

"No, you don't!"

"John."

The ex-medic shook his head. "You don't cuddle me anymore, you don't kiss me, you rarely ever say that you love me, and the only time you show sincerity is when I have to complain about it like a school girl! How do you think that makes me see our relationship?"

"A complicated one?"

John's hands clenched. "Not once, not _once _can you . . ." He sighed and turned on his heel, storming toward the door.

"John, please!" Sherlock cried, reaching out to grab John's sleeve. "Don't leave; I can't live without you!"

The doctor froze for a split second, still as stone. He then gulped and encased his hand over Sherlock's. The detective gave a faint, hopeful smile, hoping that John was forgiving him. He had to. They were meant to be and they had been through so much. But that smile disappeared as John pried his fingers off the sleeve.

Then John left without another word.


	14. Chapter 14

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~Out of all the lies you've told, "I love you" was my favorite~_

Tears were brimming in John's eyes as he left the flat. What was he doing? Why was he storming out? Sherlock had done plenty of things like this, and he's done plenty worse. What about jumping off a bloody building? Pointing a gun at him? Risking his life on _several _occasions? Why was he getting so upset over something so superficial?

_He lies a lot, _John observed as he ground his foot into the pavement with every step. He felt like stamping and throwing a tantrum, but he couldn't do that out in public. He was a grown man! All he could do was think bitter thoughts and keep his fists jammed in his coat pockets. _He lies on a daily basis._

_What were all the lies he's told?_

There was that lie he told whenever he used a disguise. When he dressed up as a security guard, wasn't that was a lie? When he had told Irene Adler and her assistant about getting jumped, this was a lie too. He probably hadn't known which pill was correct when he was challenged by the cabbie. He bluffed far too often.

He bluffed whenever he could. In games. In chess. At crime scenes. He took a shot in the dark when deducing about John's sister, for goodness sake! With everything he knew for sure, why did he try and take a risk about that?

_Because he's an idiot, _John reminded himself. _He's a bloody idiot._

John's hands clenched and unclenched as he walked down the street. People pushed around him and he got tossed and shoved around like an old rag doll. And why shouldn't he? He obviously didn't matter to Sherlock; did he even matter to others? Did Lestrade care? No. did Anderson or Donovan care? God, no. Molly probably didn't even care about his wellbeing.

"Stop it," he muttered. "She cares about you. They all do."

But his mind was far too clouded with rage. He couldn't possibly think straight. All the lies that Sherlock had told, all the bluffs he had gone through with, all the disguises and masks he'd put on. They all ran through his head like a slideshow, just causing the ex-medic to get angrier and angrier.

"Sod, you bloody sod!" he hissed as he kicked the wall while passing by a drugstore. He had missed the walks that he took to calm down. They used to be the only way to get away from the suffocating, commanding aura that Sherlock put off. Did anyone else ever notice that pressure that seemed to surround the detective?

"He's a liar," John mumbled, his speed slowing. He was starting to get tired. "He's a liar, always was." But John's mind still wandered to the 'I love you' that Sherlock had constantly told him.

Had that been a lie?


	15. Chapter 15

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~Real loss only occurs when you lose something that you love more than yourself~_

Sherlock didn't move. He hadn't moved at all since John had stormed out. That had been ten minutes ago. Finally his limbs listened to his mind and they functioned. For just a split second. Then his mind grew fuzzy and he felt light-headed. He stumbled over to the couch and collapsed there, his legs crossed awkwardly. He just sat there, staring at the wall.

"Did he really just . . .?" Sherlock couldn't believe it. John had walked out on him. John had just _left_.

What did that mean? Were they over? Was this just a rough patch? Was John going to move out? Were they just going to stop dating? Sherlock had absolutely no idea. How in the world was he supposed to figure out what this outburst of John's meant when he had never dealt with love? He knew what it was, he knew the symptoms, he knew how to use it to manipulate others, but never, _never_, did he ever find out what do when in a relationship.

For a minute he considered running after John, but the doctor would be long gone by now. He had reacted too slowly. Next he thought about how he could make it up to John. A romantic date? Flowers? Chocolate? Too cheesy, wasn't it? But it may be something the doctor liked . . .

No, no, no. He couldn't just go with the obvious. He really needed this to be special. He really needed John to forgive him. He just couldn't risk John feeling as if he wasn't trying hard enough. This was all new to him, that's all. He really wanted to commit, he _really _did, but how was he supposed to make the correct decisions if he didn't understand the game in the first place?

_Not a game! _Sherlock scolded himself. _John would hate it if you considered loving him a game._

Still, the detective didn't move. He just sat there, staring at the wall. He felt so lost. He felt so depressed. He felt so . . . incomplete.

He needed his blogger.

Finally, he stood. He knew what he had to do. He'd wanted to, for a while, but now he's decided to do so.

He ran up to his room to get it.


	16. Chapter 16

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~Don't take life too seriously. You'll never escape it alive anyway~_

It had been a blur. John didn't even really understand what had happened. All he knew was that one moment he was walking down the street and the next he was knocked out. When he awoke he was in a small room, facing a muscular, bald man with tattoos across his arms.

"I know you!" John announced in surprise. "You're the one who was helping Mrs. Hudson on the day Sherlock had jumped off . . ." His voice trailed off as he remembered what Sherlock had told him: all those who were around the three of them that day had been assassins. That this man had been an assassin. "Oh, God."

The man's expression was hard. "Sherlock cheated Moriarty. That's not good."

John gulped hard. "No?"

"No. the others have refused to go along with the plan, knowing that Moriarty won't be paying us, but I feel like a fool. I can't kill the old woman, though. She was far too sweet. Even us hit men have a conscience."

"Oh, really? That's wonderful . . ."

"But I'd be fine with killing you. A forgotten army doctor who has nothing to live up to. Yes, you'd be fine to kill."

John gulped down a large lump that had planted in his throat. "Oh?" His voice had become a quiet squeak.

"Yes."

The doctor quickly felt for his gun. It was gone. The man raised his arm and John found that his own gun was being pointed at him.

"I was thinking about killing you while you were knocked out," the assassin admitted, "but I thought that you would've enjoyed seeing the person who was about to kill you."

"That's definitely . . . considerate of you."

"I thought you'd enjoy it."

The man clicked off the safety and John squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for death.

_BANG!_


	17. Chapter 17

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

_~And I believe that love is stronger than death~_

_Am I dead?_

Silence.

Silence filled the room.

_Am I dead yet?_

Suddenly scuffles could be heard: struggles and shouts.

_Did someone call my name?_

"John!"

_Yes, there it was again . . ._

John slowly opened one eye, risking looking around. He wasn't greeted by the blinding light of heaven, or the vast emptiness of death, and certainly not the fiery pits of hell. He was instead greeted by the sight of Sherlock and the assassin tumbling about on the floor.

"You certainly are a hard man to track, John!" Sherlock reported as he wrestled the man under him. The assassin's shoulder was dripping red, but still had his hand secured around John's gun, trying to get a good aim at Sherlock. It was apparent what had happened: Sherlock had burst in at _precisely _the right moment and shot the assassin, then in the pain and confusion, jumped on him. John was most likely _not _dead.

"You . . . Did you just . . .?" John couldn't even get his words out.

"Save your life? That I did, John. And I really hope you can forgive me for treating you so poorly as of late."

"Of . . . Of course."

"Now could you do me a favor?"

"Yes?"

"Shoot this man before I get tired."

John blinked and regained his senses. "Yes . . . Yes of course!"

The ex-medic looked around and spotted Sherlock's gun a few feet away, which must have skidded away when the detective had tackled the man. John made his way over to it as quick as he could manage while still feeling the after effects of nearly dying. He picked up the pistol and aimed, realizing with dismay that he couldn't get a clear shot of the assassin.

"Take the shot!" Sherlock commanded.

"I can't; I might hit you!"

"John, this man will kill both of us without a blink of an eye, now _shoot him!_"

"But I might _kill you!_"

"John—"

_BANG!_

The doctor nearly dropped the gun. Sherlock gave a weak cough, eyes wide in surprise, as he fell to the side. Blood was pouring from the new wound that had appeared on his chest. The assassin shoved him aside, holding the newly fired weapon close.

Another gunshot erupted into the air immediately and the man fell back, dead instantly.

John lowered his arm and the pistol slipped from his hands. He stared at Sherlock, as his friend laid there. Blood was pooling around him. John clenched his fists and ran over to his friend.


	18. Chapter 18

***This story takes place after ****_The Reichenbach Fall_**

****This story is the next of a continuance. This IS a Johnlock story. I do not own any of the characters or setting.**

*****This is the final chapter for ****_Falling For You_****. Enjoy and comment!**

_~It's now or never~_

_What happened? Why is everything so blurry? Am I tired? No, I slept just two days ago, I shouldn't be tired . . . What's all this ringing surrounding me?_

_Is someone saying my name? It sounds like John. Sweet John. I hope he's all right. I hope he killed the assassin. I would hate it if he was dead . . ._

_It's like I'm being sucked into a portal. I need to fight it. Where's John? I need to find John._

"Sherlock . . .!" John's face was stained with tears and he shook his friend's shoulder with one hand and clenched Sherlock's hand with the other. "Sherlock, open your eyes!"

The detective gave a weak cough and his eyes fluttered open. "J-John . . .?"

"Oh, God . . ."

"Is he dead?"

"Yes, he is."

"You're not hurt?"

"God, Sherlock, _I'm _fine, but you've been shot!" John's voice cracked and he gripped his friend's hand even harder. "I'm going to phone Lestrade right now, and you're going to be fine."

As the ex-medic fumbled with his phone, Sherlock's hand slipped into his coat pocket and his fingers enclosed around the object he'd had for a few days now. He'd been meaning to show it to John, but the opportunity never arose.

Sherlock's energy was shrinking. It was now or never. He may not get another chance. With a trembling hand, he brought out the item.

"Yes, please hurry," John said as he hung up. His attention immediately went back to Sherlock and he froze when he saw what he was holding. "Sher—"

"John," Sherlock interrupted with a whispered tone and a trace of a smile as his eyelids dropped closed. He opened the box to reveal a shined golden ring with a small engraving of _'Forever'._

"Will you marry me . . .?"


End file.
